


these numbered days (spent with you)

by smudgesofink



Category: One Piece
Genre: And Just A Little Bit Of Angst, Fluff, In which Zoro has a thing about numbers, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, Roronoa Zoro-centric, and Luffy is just his wonderful self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgesofink/pseuds/smudgesofink
Summary: At 8, Roronoa Zoro counts the stars at night.At 17, Zoro counts his scars and stab wounds.At 19, Zoro does not count anything. At 19, Zoro meets Luffy.
Relationships: Monkey D. Luffy/Roronoa Zoro
Comments: 14
Kudos: 211





	these numbered days (spent with you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ValeriaSinclaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValeriaSinclaire/gifts).



> So, a dear friend of mine (looking at you, Ivy) convinced me to start watching One Piece and guess who's the fool that picked it up and now has to catch up with 900+ episodes?
> 
> Also, can you tell I have many feelings about Zoro???

At 8, Roronoa Zoro counts the stars at night.

He counts the clouds that float by as he runs like he could chase after them if he really wanted to, and he counts the blades of grass that cling to his pants during his walk home. He counts the number of times his mother laughs at his stories about his day—about that ugly bird he fought off at the pond using a stick as a makeshift katana, about their old neighbor scolding him for wielding a stick around, about saving up for an actual sword that he saw at the local blacksmith’s shop— _Let me buy a sword, Okaa-san! Let me buy two—no, three!_

His mother laughs and laughs in between the rasps and the dry coughs from her throat.

It’s been a week since his mother has gotten sick. Zoro counts the days of her illness, too, but he doesn’t tell her that.

Instead, Zoro lets his mother smile at him and listens when she says, “You know, your father used to be good with a sword, too.”

“I’m gonna be gooder than him!” Zoro declares with a huff, and his mother laughs once more.

“You’re going to be better than your _Tou-san_ , Zoro?”

“Yeah!” Zoro nods determinedly. “I’m gonna be better. I’m gonna be the best!”

At that, his mother doesn’t laugh. She smiles instead, so bright and pretty and proud that for a moment, the pallor of her face goes away. “Promise?”

“I promise, _Okaa-san_!”

They wash the dishes after dinner. Zoro counts the plates and utensils as he rinses them, and his mother counts softly alongside of him.

///

Two weeks later, his mother dies in her sleep.

Zoro wears his cleanest, blackest clothes for the funeral and does not cry. When he gets home, Zoro starts to pack whatever can fit in his knapsnack.

Zoro counts the berries he’s saved up in a pouch and packs it. He packs his clothes, and the remaining food left in the kitchen, and his threadbare blanket. (He doesn’t know how long his journey will take and isn’t sure whether or not a blanket will come in handy.)

He packs his parents’ wedding picture, tucks it into the small spaces that’s left inside his bag with clumsy fingers. He packs his grief, too, and his promise within his chest.

Zoro counts his steps as he walks away.

///

Zoro intends to fulfill his promise, no matter what it takes, so when he arrives at _Shimotsuki_ , the first nearby village with a dojo, he challenges the owner.

It doesn’t end very well for him.

///

Zoro gets one wooden sword from the container, and then two swords, and then three—he grabs a total of nine before the dojo owner clears his throat and efficiently stops him from getting more. The other snot-nosed brats of the dojo gawk at him like he’s out of his mind and Zoro pays no attention to them because clearly, if they can’t understand what he’s doing, then they don’t understand his genius.

“Begin!” Owner signals the start of the duel.

Zoro takes up his stance against the Owner’s daughter—Kuina, that’s her name—and feels the strength in his bones and in his blood, the taste of his promise to his mother heavy at the back of his throat. Zoro is strong, and he knows it. There is nothing that can stop him from keeping his promise. He will be the best swordsman there is. He will be the best—

Kuina swings her sword and smacks him once on the head.

Zoro swallows back his promise. His eyes water at the pain and his dream shatters before him—

And Kuina smacks him two more times.

Just for good measure.

///

Zoro counts everything he does after that.

Each wild swing of his practice sword, each hard hit of the bamboo blade against the dummy, each gasping breath he takes as his lungs burn with the effort of his training.

_251._

_252._

_253._

He counts the seconds and the minutes that pass in each repetition of his exercises. He counts the teeth he’d lost while biting down on a rope with a heavy boulder at the end to train his jaw strength—Zoro has lost two of his molars so far, and has almost swallowed one—and he counts the number of bamboo swords he has broken.

_254._

_255._

_256._

The numbers go higher. Zoro gets faster, stronger, better at a quick rate. It takes him three months to beat the top 10 students of his dojo class. Takes him another two weeks until he’s good enough to beat the adult members, too.

He gets granted one more duel with Kuina.

Zoro takes up his three swords—maybe nine swords _are_ a little too many swords, Zoro reflects—and bares his teeth in challenge. He charges forward, and thinks, _I can win this time. I can win_ —

Kuina hits him once—dead-center on the fucking forehead—and defeats him.

///

Zoro challenges Kuina exactly 2000 times.

Zoro also loses to Kuina exactly 2000 times.

So for his 2001st challenge, Zoro grabs the pouch that has his meager savings and buys himself two of the cheapest katanas he can possibly buy in the village before hunting down his rival. He finds her sitting on the dirt road next to the fields, with eyes and nose rubbed red and puffy.

He almost asks her what’s wrong until he catches himself. Kuina is not his friend, and Zoro doesn’t have the time nor the skill to even begin to offer comfort. So Zoro opens his mouth instead and asks, “You have a real sword, don’t you?”

He says instead, “Fight me one last time.”

Demands instead, “Let’s end this.”

It makes Kuina grin at him. It’s not a very pretty grin, not when it’s accompanied by her cutting glare and balled fists, but at least she’s no longer looking so sad, Zoro thinks.

///

Kuina wins for the 2001st time, and then says she can never be the best because she’s a girl.

It’s the dumbest shit Zoro has ever heard.

So Zoro yells, “That’s so stupid!” and then proceeds to bully Kuina into promising to be his rival for the title of the greatest swordsman.

Kuina sniffs. “You don’t get to lecture me when you’re that weak.”

“Shut up,” Zoro growls, flustered, and holds out his hand.

Years later, Zoro will realize that perhaps he shouldn’t have made the same promise twice. He will realize that promises are hard to make, and even harder to fulfill. Promises hold onto ghosts and keep them there. But he is a child, still, and he doesn’t know any better yet. So Zoro makes the same promise twice and thinks nothing of it.

At the very least, it makes Kuina grin at him. It’s still not a very pretty grin, but it’s getting there.

///

They become friends, weirdly enough.

 _Kuina_ becomes a friend. It takes them 4 days, 6 hours and 15 minutes to build the friendship amidst their long-standing rivalry. Their duels are still as bone-breakingly bloodthirsty when they go at it, but there’s a brightness to it, too, that hasn’t been there before.

Maybe it’s in the way Kuina turns the duel into a dance rather than a fight. Maybe it’s in the way she taunts him under her breath, just to see Zoro bite down harder on the handle of his sword, or the way Kuina tries to match him now, exchanging hits of their swords and dodging with ease, instead of overpowering him.

Maybe it’s in the way Kuina grins sometimes when Zoro almost, _almost_ gets her.

These are other things that Zoro doesn’t count:

The number of times he and Kuina sneak out to spar at the fields again.

The number of times he and Kuina sneak in to the storage room so he can watch how to properly polish a blade.

The number of times Kuina’s hair gets caught between her fingers as she tucks them behind her ear.

The number of times he hears Kuina’s ugly snorting laugh at something stupid Zoro says.

The number of times Kuina corrects his stance.

The number of times Kuina calls his name.

The number of times Kuina smiles, and it looks pretty.

Zoro lets the moments come and go as they please—after all, he thinks, he has many more chances to count them.

///

In the middle of his training, they tell him Kuina is dead.

Zoro drops the ropes and lets the boulders fall behind him. He forgets the count of his breath, and forgets to keep his heart from breaking.

///

They bury Kuina on a rainy day.

Zoro wears his cleanest dojo uniform and does not cry. Her coffin is small, Zoro thinks. Much smaller than Zoro had known Kuina to be. Kuina is—Kuina had been taller and bigger and larger than life. Kuina is—was—immeasurable in many ways.

Now, she is nothing more than an 11 year-old girl who died on a Thursday afternoon.

“It’s not fair,” Zoro almost says. Almost. He bites his words back in the last second and swallows them down along with his pain. Zoro marches on.

///

At 15, Zoro packs again for his departure from _Shimotsuki_. He packs only what’s needed.

His pouch of berries, his clothes, his parents’ faded wedding photo.

His swords and Kuina’s.

His grief and his promises.

///

At 17, Zoro counts his scars and stab wounds. He counts his gasps and his swelling agony and his almost-deaths. Counts the number of stitches as the needle pushes through his clammy skin and sews his bleeding flesh shut. He counts the bounty, and he counts his chances of survival—high or low, Zoro gambles it all anyway.

Zoro counts the number of swings it takes his blade before the enemy in front of him bleeds out to his death, and afterwards, Zoro counts the bottles of rum it takes to make him forget how many bodies he’s left on his trail. He counts the number of times he’s vomited after killing someone—only the first three times—and tries to forget that too.

Somewhere along the line, he makes a name for himself. Pirate Hunter Zoro. It’s about the same time he loses his parents’ wedding photo from a pirate ambush at night. He isn’t sure what’s sadder—the fact that he’s lost it, or the fact that he is too caught up with a bone-deep exhaustion from the fight to fully mourn its loss.

If he was going to be honest, bounty hunting isn’t what Zoro had in mind when he set out to be the greatest swordsman. But then again, most things that happened in his life weren’t what Zoro had in mind either.

So Zoro drinks and Zoro takes and Zoro kills.

Rinse and repeat.

Zoro stops counting and forgets all the numbers.

(All numbers except for Kuina’s. Zoro walks, and keeps the number of days since Kuina’s death tucked into the spaces of his heart.)

///

At 19, Zoro does not count anything.

Shells Town was an unplanned stop resulting from a wrong turn. It isn’t Zoro’s fucking fault if the maps he keeps on getting are too damn hard to read. It isn’t his fault either that the Marines at the inn had been jackasses, or that the innkeeper’s daughter was a girl of too much courage and not enough foresight, or that Zoro’s first instinct was to punch the obviously rich spoiled brat of a man in the face.

(Drawing his sword even after discovering that the man was a Marine Captain’s son—okay, that may have been on him.)

But what is done is done, and it is all Zoro can do to _not_ _count_ the days since he has last eaten anything, or drunk anything, or done anything other than hang limply from the post they have tied him to.

Zoro does not count. He does not count, he does not count, he does not—

///

(But then Zoro meets a boy. Bright-eyed and fresh-faced, with a smile too big and a laugh too loud for his body to contain.

The boy says, “I’m gonna get your swords for you.”

The boy says, “I’m gonna get you out of here.”

The boy says, “I’m gonna make you join my crew.”

And the boy does all of that, specifically in that order.

The boy also says, “I’m Luffy, and I’m gonna be the King of the Pirates!”

For some reason, Zoro believes that Luffy will do that, too.)

///

In the first few days they spend together as captain and first mate, Zoro tries so very hard not to count the things that are not worthy counting and remembering.

Luffy makes it difficult, because Luffy—as Zoro comes to realize—is a fucking child. When he’s bored after hours of floating in the sea in their little dinghy, Luffy becomes irritatingly repetitive— _Ne, Zoro, I’m bored. I’m bored. I’m boreeeeddd—Shut up, I heard you already!—_ but also dangerously unpredictable.

So when Luffy gets caught by a giant bird in the middle of the ocean, Zoro thinks _that’s a first_ and then smacks a palm against his forehead with a vocal, “Dammit, Luffy!”

Zoro saves him twice, yells at him for five times, and gets injured by more than a dozen counts before the day is over.

So fine. Zoro goes back to counting.

He counts the number of times Luffy says he’s bored. Counts the number of whining that Luffy does. Counts the number of bites it takes Luffy to finish off a gigantic hunk of meat at every inn they stay in and the number of times he almost chokes on his food and Zoro has to thump him on the back for it.

Zoro counts the number of times he saves Luffy’s ass. He counts Luffy’s declarations of being the Pirate King and counts the number of enemies flabbergasted in the face of his words. Zoro counts the number of times Luffy uses his freaky rubber powers AND the number of enemies flabbergasted because of _that_. Zoro is still not used to the stretching arms and the invincibility it brings. It’s kind of badass but also kind of disgusting to witness.

Zoro counts their numbered days together—because surely this can’t last for long.

(With Zoro, no one and nothing lasts for long.)

///

(Some nights still, when Luffy is deep asleep and snoring on the other side of the boat, Zoro counts the stars.

Once, Luffy wakes up bleary-eyed and loose-limbed in the middle of the night and sees him looking up at the dark sky. His boy captain crawls to Zoro’s end of the boat and falls down heavily to curl up on his side. The motion rocks the dinghy—Zoro tenses at the movement, tenses even more so at the easy contact.

“Luffy,” Zoro begins, clipped.

“Cold,” Luffy says in groggy explanation and gives Zoro no choice in the matter as he burrows his body further into Zoro’s arm. It takes him a moment but ultimately, Zoro sighs and gives up, curling his hand around Luffy’s torso. “What’re you doing?”

Zoro glances down to meet Luffy’s sleepy eyes blinking owlishly at him before his gaze slides up to the starry horizon once more. “Nothing.”

“Is Zoro counting stars?”

“Yeah,” Zoro admits gruffly. “What about it?”

Luffy does not laugh like Zoro thought he would. He yawns instead, and says, “Those’re a lot. Can I help Zoro count?”

Zoro blinks at the stars. He tries not to remember his dead mother any more than he has to. “Suit yourself,” he tells Luffy, and goes back to counting. He does not pay attention to Luffy’s warmth, building up and spreading across his chest, or the way Luffy counts softly alongside of him.)

///

Zoro counts his days with Luffy, and the days go on and on.

Soon they acquire a ship and two more crewmates. They get a (shitty) cook, somehow. Zoro saves Luffy’s idiot ass many more times. They get to the Grand Line and they get themselves a princess and a young reindeer kid for a doctor, and Zoro’s time with Luffy and the crew never seem to meet an end.

Zoro wonders about it in the fleeting moments and in-betweens, as he looks at Luffy from across the expanse of the Going Merry. Wonders when the counting will stop, if there will ever be an end to this journey that he has with them. (Sometimes, Zoro’s chest aches at the thought of it all ending. _Must be the chest scar acting up_ , Zoro thinks.)

Most days, Luffy is oblivious to his looks. Luffy is a livewire after all, like the human embodiment of a spark that keeps on lighting itself up. His captain darts and swings and bounds all over the place, catching himself on the railings of Going Merry only to fling himself off to the other side.

Some days though, when the waters are calm and the winds are gentle, Luffy stops.

Luffy turns and looks, right back into Zoro’s eyes.

And Luffy smiles, wide and wonderful.

///

Zoro stops counting the days.

(Zoro starts to breathe easier after he stops, too.)

///

He counts this, instead:

The number of times Luffy runs around the Going Merry, chasing after Usopp and Chopper in a game of tag.

The number of times Luffy loses his straw hat and tries to dive into the ocean for it.

The number of times Zoro and the others have stopped him from diving into the ocean for it.

The number of times Luffy does something really stupid, but really fucking funny.

The number of times Luffy bares his teeth in a fight and makes goosebumps run along Zoro’s skin.

The number of times Luffy punches an enemy in the face and makes Zoro warm with pride.

The number of times Zoro calls him “Captain” and Luffy’s entire face lights up.

The number of times Zoro saves Luffy’s dumb ass.

The number of times Luffy saves his dumb ass.

The number of times that Luffy is loud. That Luffy is brave. That Luffy is angry. That Luffy is quiet. The number of times that Luffy laughs, rowdy and uncompromising. That Luffy runs his hands through his messy, inky hair and looks suddenly, painfully young.

That Luffy turns to him during dinner and gives him a pleading look so that Zoro will donate a third of his meal onto Luffy’s plate.

That Luffy looks soft, in those days when it is still too early for the sun to rise and Luffy is up anyway, his head pillowed on his arms against the railings as he watches the waves.

That Luffy says his name— _ne, Zoro—_ like he’s been saying it for a lifetime.

That Luffy looks at him and smiles like he’ll never smile again.

Zoro counts and counts and counts them all.

///

It is still dark out when Zoro wakes up for the day. The Going Merry is in still waters and the soft wind blows past the sails almost like an afterthought, so Zoro pays no mind to any of his surroundings as he washes his face and goes to the storage for his weights.

(It’s the safest option, after all. Nami will skin him alive if Zoro ever attempts to run the ship without the navigator’s instructions.)

Falling into the correct stance and starting his strength training routine is easy enough. Zoro lets the ache in his arms settle deep into his bones, lets the sound of the rolling waves wash over him as he counts under his breath, _12, 13, 14, 15._

He gets to _330_ when the echo of footsteps against the wooden floorboards reach his ears. Zoro doesn’t have to turn to learn who it is—there’s a telltale yawn with a sleepy whine caught at the tail end of it, and then Luffy is making his way past Zoro and plopping himself down on the floor on Zoro’s left.

“Zoro’s early,” Luffy remarks. It sounds more like a complaint rather than an observation and Zoro almost smiles. “The sun’s not even out yet.”

“332,” Zoro says. “333. 334. 335.”

Luffy pouts at the non-answer. For a moment, he is quiet as he watches Zoro bring the weights up and down in controlled swings, counting clearly all the while.

“337. 338. 339—”

“Fifteen,” Luffy suddenly declares.

Zoro spares the barest of confused glances at his captain. “340. 341. 342.”

“Twenty-eight,” Luffy calls out next.

Zoro frowns. “343—”

“Thirty-three!” Luffy says.

“Oi,” Zoro chides, and misses his next count. He clicks his tongue. “343. 344—”

“Twenty-five!”

Zoro stops his arms in mid-swing of the weights to turn to Luffy properly and glare at him. In turn, Luffy gives him the biggest shit-eating grin that Zoro refuses to be fond of. He sets the weights down carefully on the floorboards before he sighs.

“What do you want, Luffy?”

“Fifty-six!” Luffy answers, like a brat, looking more and more impish at the turn of events. “Forty-seven!”

“What,” Zoro teases dryly, as he wipes the sweat from his jaw, “you don’t know numbers higher than a hundred?”

His taunt stops Luffy in his tracks. Luffy looks stunned for all of five seconds, and then he’s huffing mock-angrily at Zoro’s challenge, standing up with balled fists. It takes him a moment—but then Luffy’s eyes take on a glint and he points a proud finger at Zoro.

“One hundred and one!” Luffy shouts, triumphant.

Zoro snorts despite himself. “Good job, Captain.”

Luffy throws his head back and laughs, delighted at the praise, and the glare on Zoro’s face softens.

Because suddenly, Luffy looks very handsome, with the ocean breeze in his hair and the first rays of the morning sun stretching up to caress his face. Suddenly, nothing else matters—not the ship or its sails or its wooden floors, not the slow sunrise or the vast sea that welcomes it. Suddenly, Zoro realizes that this is a moment he cannot count—that this, too, this slow unfurling of warmth inside his chest as his heart beats, is an immeasurable moment.

That Luffy is a person of immeasurable things.

And Zoro forgets himself.

He strides forward until Luffy is within arm’s reach, and then Zoro is sliding a careful hand around Luffy’s nape, leaning forward until their noses are brushing. Zoro waits for Luffy to stop him. He waits for the shove, the step-back, he waits for Luffy to freeze in his hold and push him away.

None of that happens.

Luffy hums quietly instead, quieter than Zoro could ever imagine Luffy was capable of being, and asks against Zoro’s mouth, “What, Zoro doesn’t know how to kiss?”

Zoro huffs out a shaky laugh. “Dumbass.”

Luffy takes the last step forward, presses his mouth firmly against Zoro’s lips, and Zoro—

Zoro fucking melts. Luffy is sea salt and chapped lips and wonder, taking Zoro’s breath away completely. They kiss on the deck, with eyes closed and rough hands made tender. They kiss slow, breathless, easy. They kiss with all the time in the world.

When they pull apart, inevitably, Zoro takes a shuddering breath that Luffy laughs at. Zoro knocks their foreheads together gently, flustered. “What are you laughing at?”

“You,” Luffy snickers. He places a kiss on the tip of Zoro’s nose that has the swordsman flushing red. Then, Luffy asks, “Will Zoro count this too?”

Zoro blinks, and then sighs. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t think I will. I will never stop counting otherwise.”

Luffy’s answering smile is the brightest yet. “Damn right,” he crows, and then pulls Zoro in for another kiss.

Just for good measure.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so. I don't know why I made a fic of Zoro having a thing for numbers. Please don't ask me. I just saw him working out, shirtless, and counting above 3000 in one episode and I thought, OH.
> 
> Kudos, keysmashes, short comments and rambling comments are all wonderful! <3 Please scream with me about your One Piece feelings.


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